


(as long as you love me so) let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christmas Eve, Hand Jobs, M/M, Snowed In, please dont think too deeply about anything happening in this lmfao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: FP has to work on Christmas Eve with an impending snow storm. What could possibly go wrong...
Relationships: Fred Andrews/FP Jones II
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Home for the HoliDale





	(as long as you love me so) let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jugheadjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/gifts).



> first of all im a floridian i know nothing about snows and storms. second of all, this was just an excuse to write fred and fp fooling around at the sheriffs station. third of all merry christmas julia lets ignore how late this is

The smell of pancakes and maple syrup hits FP as soon as he leaves the bedroom, dressed and ready for work despite the holiday. He comes downstairs, finds Fred in the kitchen still in his pajamas; a simple grey shirt paired with green and red pants with little flying Rudolphs all over. Bruce Springsteen is on the radio singing about Santa Claus coming to town, and FP’s had to hear this song no less than 500 times every Christmas since he’s known Fred, but he’s still not sick of it. Not even remotely as he’s leaning in the archway of the kitchen, watching Fred with his back to him bouncing around and singing into the whisk in his hand. 

FP takes his phone out to record some of it, smiling the whole time while Fred’s completely unaware of his audience. He slips his phone into his pocket after about a minute, takes a seat at the kitchen island and says “Wow, breakfast _and_ a show. It really is Christmas.”

Fred doesn’t even miss a beat, just turns with the pan in his hand like “You think I don’t know when you’re recording me?” And he’s all smiles until he catches sight of FP’s uniform, face falling in what FP presumes is disappointment. “You’re not working today…” Half plea, half _over-my-dead-body_ declaration.

FP immediately feels guilty. He should’ve said something sooner, but he was avoiding this specific look Fred’s giving him right now, which he should’ve known was inevitable. He _did_ know. He’s just a coward. “‘Fraid so, darlin’.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve…” The pout on Fred’s face would be adorable if FP didn’t feel so bad about causing it. 

“Crime doesn’t take a day off.”

“And don’t you know that better than anybody,” Fred quips, sets a plate down in front of his husband and shovels four Christmas tree shaped pancakes on top of it before sitting down across from him.

FP drowns them in syrup and stuffs a forkful into his mouth. “Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

A voice cuts through on the radio then, talk of an expected snowstorm later that evening. Fred’s eyes cut over to FP, and FP already knows the question on Fred’s tongue before he opens his mouth.

“I’ll be home well before then, don’t worry. You think I’m gonna miss a holiday dinner?”

“Yeah, you better not.” Fred playfully kicks a socked foot to FP’s shin.

FP grins around another mouthful of pancakes before finishing off his plate. He gets up to put his dish in the sink, gives Fred a sticky sweet kiss on the cheek along the way and laughs as his face scrunches up from the feel of syrup on his skin. “Alright, I’m off.”

Fred reaches out for FP’s hand, pulling him in so they can have a proper kiss. With a squeeze of his hand he says “Come home,” and FP responds “Always will”. It’s this thing they’ve been doing ever since FP took the job as sheriff. Because Riverdale isn’t the safe, quiet, little town Fred grew up thinking it was, and he’s been confronted with this fact too many times firsthand. And FP’s right in the line of fire every day, which really isn’t _new_ for him, but they’ve finally got something good going on, happy and together and so fucking in love, and the thought of losing that scares the shit out of Fred. 

So FP makes his promises, seals it with another kiss because he has something to look forward to at the end of his days now.

He gathers his coat at the front door, sliding it on as he steps out into the frigid winter air. And already he’s counting down the hours till he can return to a warm, inviting home and celebrate the holiday with his family.

\--

The sun’s beginning to set, and FP had wanted to leave an hour ago, but this town’s gone to hell in a handbasket and he’s gotta actually like… _do_ things to help fix it now. Because somehow this is where he ended up in life. And he’s used to being on the other side of this equation, but he’s responsible now, and Fred’s proud of him. But he won’t be if FP misses dinner…

He needs to call Fred, tell him he’ll be late all because he had the genius idea to send everybody home most of the day for the holiday. Because it’s Christmas Eve, and surely the town can keep it together for one night without the need of law enforcement. And by some Christmas miracle, it has. But FP’s been left alone to play catch-up on bundles of paperwork. And he knows he’ll get an earful from Fred about all this, so FP keeps chickening out. Opts instead to suck on what must be his fifth candy cane of the day because it helps distract him.

He keeps reading the same line on the paper in front of him over and over until he gives up, finally biting the bullet (which happens to taste a lot like peppermint candy) and reaching for his phone to make the call. He only gets as far as his home screen before there’s a knock at his office door, which is weird considering he’s supposed to be the only one in the building today…

“I need to report a missing person,” Fred says from the doorway, looking all bundled up and cozy even though FP can read plain as day the subtle annoyance on his face over the fact that FP’s here and not home.

But Fred’s not _mad_ , so FP smirks, plays along as he leans back in his seat. “Mind telling me who we’re looking for?”

“My husband,” Fred starts, making his way across the room to FP’s desk. “About yea high,” he stretches his arm to about an inch over his own head, “Tall, dark, kinda handsome.”

“Sounds like a real catch.” 

Fred perches on the edge of FP’s desk in front of him, makes a face like _meh_ , shrugs his shoulders. 

FP laughs, sits up and takes gentle hold of Fred’s thighs and rolls his chair closer. “Well, what makes you think he’s missing?”

“He said he’d be home in time to beat the storm, and, well,” Fred turns to look out the window, snow already falling. If they leave soon they should be able to beat the worst of it. “It’s been hours since I’ve even heard from him.”

FP’s eyes follow Fred’s before turning his attention back to him, runs his hands up and down his husband’s thighs. “Something terrible must’ve happened for him to ditch out on a guy like you.”

“That’s what _I’m_ saying,” Fred says all dramatic, throws his hands up in a big show before he and FP both let out a chuckle. 

Wrapping his arms around Fred’s waist, FP lets his head drop against Fred’s stomach and groans, feels Fred’s fingers come up to curl in his hair. “I’m sorry I’m a terrible husband.” He lifts his head up, chin still resting against Fred. “I was just about to call you. Can’t believe you came all the way down here just to get me,” he laughs. “Can’t believe you left Archie on Christmas Eve.”

“Well the food’s all cooked, and Mary, Gladys, and JB came in, so he’s not alone. Plus, I wasn’t really planning on staying long…”

“Alright, alright. I can take a hint,” FP laughs as he pushes his chair back and stands up. “We can go.”

Fred smiles all satisfied, reaches for the sheriff hat sitting on the corner of the desk and plops it down on top of his head because he can never help himself. FP never minds it, though. Looks a million times better on Fred than it ever does on him.

“You’re so cute,” FP says as he reaches around Fred for a file that needs putting away. 

“I’ve been told that once or twice.”

The file goes forgotten in FP’s hand as he leans in to kiss Fred, can’t help himself with how tempting Fred looks right now even if he is still bundled up in winter gear. He hooks his finger under Fred’s chin to tilt his head up so the hat won’t be so much in the way, but when FP tries to deepen the kiss Fred turns his head away so that FP’s face falls to his neck.

“No, no, we’re not doing this,” Fred protests, but his knees are parting regardless and FP uses the opportunity to press their bodies closer together. 

“Just a couple of minutes…” FP counters, lips already working on a bruise to stain Fred’s skin.

There’s an argument on the tip of Fred’s tongue that dies as FP sucks on his pulse point, thumbs digging into the crease of his groin. He lets out a moan, grasping tight to FP’s biceps. “A couple’a minutes,” he caves, “but _that’s it._ ”

When FP pulls back he’s all teeth, grin sharp and fake-innocent before slotting their mouths together, and all Fred can think about is how FP tastes like peppermint as his tongue slips into Fred’s mouth.

It’s well over a couple of minutes by the time Fred’s sitting there with his jacket and flannel hanging off his shoulders, FP working on his belt.

FP’s got half his hand down the front of Fred’s jeans when suddenly the lights flick off. He doesn’t think twice about it, too singularly focused right now to give a shit about anything else, but Fred’s not quite on the same page.

“What’s that?” he asks. He shoves at FP’s chest to look around the room, the sheriff hat getting knocked off his head when FP’s accidentally bumps into it. “Why’d the lights go out?”

“It’s fine. They’ll come back on in a second.” FP goes back to the task at hand, captures Fred’s lips in a kiss and manages to at least get his hand on Fred’s dick before he’s being pushed back. 

“They’re not coming back on.”

“Oh my God, Fred,” FP laments, but Fred ignores him, hops off the desk and situates himself as he walks over to the window.

It’s snowing, but so much worse than before. Fred can maybe see two feet in front of him, knows getting back home is out of the cards until the storm blows over, whenever that’ll be. 

“Oh, well this is great. Now we’re gonna miss dinner!” Fred yells, arm stretched out toward the window as he turns back to face FP. 

“What’re you yelling at me for?” FP says back, voice rising to meet Fred’s.

“Because it’s your stupid libido’s fault!”

“Hey! I wasn’t making out with myself there, sweetheart!”

“If you had just stayed home today in the first place-”

“Nobody asked you to come for me!”

The lights come back on then, the generator finally kicking in, and the two men are left at a standstill, both of them too angry to say a word. 

When it’s clear neither of them are about to make the effort to speak Fred takes his phone out and heads into the hall, rings up Archie to check in on him and deliver the news that they’re gonna have to do dinner without him and FP. 

No matter how many times Archie assures him he’s fine and not upset about the ordeal, Fred can’t help but feel guilty. He hates the thought of them spending any amount of time apart on the holiday even if he knows he’ll be home later that night. It doesn’t sit right with him, which is what got him into this situation in the first place - because Christmas without FP left him with the same ache. But there’s not a lot he can do. Driving’s impossible and he’s entertained the thought of walking through the storm, but the rational part of his brain tells him that’s just as crazy. 

He’s just gotta face the facts: he’s stuck.

FP comes out just as Fred’s hanging up the call, finds him sitting on a bench all sullen, says “You wanna see if there’s any food in the break room?”

Fred knows this is FP’s way of a peace offering, because he’s never really been good at saying _sorry_. So he nods, says “Sure,” and they head downstairs.

\--

There’s something eerie about walking around an empty police station, the feeling only made worse by the fact that FP _still_ doesn’t feel like he belongs on this side of the law. On his best days he feels like a child playing dress up. On his worst it’s like he’s a stranger in his own life, like he got dropped into some parallel universe and he’s all on his own trying to make sense of his new surroundings while everyone goes on like this is normal. It’s days like that when the Serpent tattoo on his ribs itches something terrible and he has to fight to not claw at his skin.

They make it to the kitchen, and FP heads straight to the fridge while Fred searches the cupboards. 

“We got Chinese takeout,” FP says, coming away from the fridge with a box of General Tso in his hand.

Fred’s stomach growls at just the thought of it, but his brow raises when he gets a look at the box. “That says ‘Janet’.”

FP opens the box anyway, pops a piece of chicken into his mouth. “So?”

“We can’t just eat someone else’s leftovers!”

“Why not? I’m the sheriff. What’s she gonna do?”

“I can’t believe I’m married to such a corrupt cop,” Fred jokes as he takes off his jacket and drapes it over a nearby chair.

FP scoffs, mouth full of Chinese takeout. “Oh, please. You think my bad boy charm is sexy.”

Fred laughs, but it’s more fond than it is deprecating. “Yeah, you’re real irresistible right now.” 

FP cocks an eyebrow, one side of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “I know, baby.” He sets the container of leftovers down onto the counter and holds his arms out. “Gimme a kiss, I know you want to.”

Fred’s eyes go wide, but there’s still a playful smile on his face. “No way in hell.” There’s some sauce on FP’s mouth, in his beard. Fred still to this day has no idea how someone could be such a messy eater.

“It’s the season of giving, Fred! Give me a kiss!” FP taunts, makes grabby hands as he walks forward towards his husband. 

Fred laughs as he starts backing away. “Fuck off!”

FP lunges forward then, and Fred _just_ misses getting caught in his grasp when he jumps back.

There’s not a lot of space between them and the door, and FP’s got a longer stride, closes the gap between them with little effort just as Fred makes it to the doorway, and has him in his arms in no time. 

“Just one little kiss and I’ll let you go,” FP offers, arm snaking tighter around Fred’s waist, pushing their bodies flush together. 

Fred puts up a half-assed fight, doesn’t _really_ want to be let go of. “No. You’re gross!”

“You’re really giving a guy a complex here.”

Fred rolls his eyes, pauses when he catches a glimpse of the greenery hanging above them. “Oh, you little…”

FP grins like the cat who ate the canary. “See, now you _gotta_ kiss me. Mistletoe rules. Don’t wanna upset the elves.”

Fred pulls back, still caught in FP’s arms, and fixes him with a look. “That’s not even a thing.”

FP shrugs, waits for his kiss anyway. 

And it’s not like Fred’s _not_ gonna kiss him, and FP _knows_ that. But it’s fun to play it up a little, make him wait.

Fred licks his thumb, wipes the sauce off FP’s face before sucking it off his own finger. FP tracks the movement with a lustful gaze, watches Fred’s thumb linger in his mouth a little longer than necessary. 

“Such a tease,” FP says, somehow gets _more_ into Fred’s space, like that’s even possible at this point. 

“Who said I was teasin’?” Fred’s hand slides down to FP’s tie, gives it just enough of a tug that FP’s forced to follow the movement. Fred sways back just before FP can meet his lips, smirks when FP lets out a little whine. 

FP’s gone all pouty in that adorably petulant way he always does when Fred’s being a tease, so Fred decides to show some mercy.

With his hand still holding firm to FP’s tie, Fred pulls him in till their lips meet. It starts sweet, a simple chaste kiss. FP slips a hand under Fred’s shirt, thumb stroking the small of his back. Fred lets out a content little sigh, enough opportunity for FP to slide his tongue between his husband’s lips. 

What started out an innocent kiss soon turns heated. Fred’s back is pressed to the doorjamb. It’s not the most comfortable position to be in, but FP’s mouth is doing a pretty good job at distracting him from any discomfort. 

FP’s got one hand gripping the door frame above Fred’s head, the other lodged firmly down the back of Fred’s jeans to palm his ass (and Fred has no ass to speak of - it’s been a running joke amongst their friends for years - but God bless FP for not letting that stop him from treating Fred like he does).

FP trails hot open-mouthed kisses down Fred’s jaw, his neck, his chest, grinds his hips against Fred’s and Fred gasps, lips curling into a devious grin. The khaki material of FP’s uniform does nothing to hide how hard he’s getting. 

“That a gun in your pocket or’re you just happy to see me?” Fred asks, a fist curling in FP’s hair to tug his head back just hard enough to sting.

FP’s eyes light up with lust as he stares down Fred, licks his lips like a predator looking at prey. “Why don’t you stripsearch me and find out.”

Fred gets an idea then, grabs FP’s chin and pulls him into a kiss before whispering against his lips “Wanna know a secret?”

“Always,” FP replies before Fred takes his hand and leads him out of the kitchen with the same giddiness he had back in high school when they’d skip class to make out under the bleachers.

By the time they end up at their new destination FP’s already plastered to Fred’s back, kissing and nibbling along his neck and shoulder without ever really paying attention to where he was being led to. It’s not until Fred stops in his tracks that FP finally looks up and notices they’re standing in front of one of the holding cells. 

“What’re we doing in here?” FP asks, admittedly only half interested. His only focus right now is keeping his mouth on Fred.

That plan falls through as Fred untangles himself from his husband’s arms and moves towards the cell, leans back against the metal bars, arms crossed over his chest, and fixes FP with a cool grin. “I used to have this fantasy, you know? When we were teenagers.”

FP _doesn’t_ know, an eyebrow raising in question as the corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. “What kind of fantasy?”

Licking his lips, Fred looks down for a second and blushes. “You can’t laugh.”

“Cross my heart,” FP says, making a little x over the left side of his chest.

Fred shakes his head, huffs out a laugh through his nose before continuing on. “Okay, so… When we were in high school, after you joined the Serpents and you were getting in trouble a lot-” he pauses, makes sure he hasn’t completely ruined the mood because he’s not exactly bringing up fond memories here. He notices FP tense just the slightest, the way he always does when his past his brought up, but he hasn’t closed himself off yet. He’s still interested in whatever Fred has to say.

“I used to daydream about storming in here and taking everyone down, like some big rescue mission. And I’d come break you out and we’d drive far away, leave Riverdale behind-”

“Wait.” FP cuts Fred off, walks over to stand in front of him and slips his hands under Fred’s shirt, rests them on the warm skin of his waist. “ _You_ dreamed about leaving _Riverdale_?”

Fred smiles, something soft and warm as the blush on his cheeks deepens. “I would’ve done anything for you.” He places his hand over FP’s left, touches the metal band on his finger. “Still would.”

And that part isn’t exactly news to FP, but hearing it still makes his heart beat a little faster, knocks the wind right out of him. And it’s a selfish thing, maybe, but he’ll never get sick of hearing Fred talk about how much he loves him.

So he kisses Fred, because that’s all his brain can really think to do right now, has no interest in doing anything else, really. His hands squeeze at Fred’s sides and he relishes in the resulting laughter it elicits, loves how he can _feel_ Fred’s smile because it’s pressed right up against his own lips.

“Wait, I haven’t even told you the best part yet.” Fred spills the words right into FP’s mouth, because FP won’t stop kissing him, swallows every syllable like he needs it to live. Fred can’t help but be amused because despite their age FP’s still every bit as eager as he was when he was 17. And maybe it’s an ego boost for Fred knowing he’s at the receiving end of it. How FP’s attention is always on _him_.

“So then tell me the best part.” FP nibbles at Fred’s bottom lip before moving down to his neck, being courteous enough to leave Fred’s mouth available to talk.

Fred tilts his head to the side to give FP a better angle, loses himself to the feeling of the warm mouth latched to his neck, and for a second he forgets what the hell he was going on about. “It’s, um-” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration, like that’s gonna do anything. But then FP’s sliding a thigh between his legs, rubs up against him hard enough that Fred’s choking on a moan, and funnily enough his thoughts are back on track.

“In my fantasy, before we run off together, when I’m breaking you out of the cell…” Saying it out loud Fred’s suddenly feeling embarrassed. And it’s stupid, he knows, because he and FP have been through _some shit_ and things like modesty and propriety between the two of them were thrown out the window _ages_ ago.

FP senses Fred’s sudden trepidation, can read him like a book. He puts a pause on the necking and straightens up, rubs soothing circles over Fred’s stomach with his thumbs. “Don’t leave me hanging, baby.” He nuzzles his nose against Fred’s pink tinted cheek. “I wanna hear the rest.” He presses his thigh tighter to Fred’s groin, is more than pleased when Fred grinds down against him, moans softly right against FP’s ear.

He kisses Fred softly, coaxing him on, and it seems to be the confidence boost Fred needs to go on.

“You’re so happy to see me,” Fred continues, finally finding his voice again, albeit shakier than before. A mix of still lingering nerves and arousal, “grateful, I guess.”

FP’s hanging on to every word as he dips one hand down between them, starts palming Fred over his jeans, keeps the movement light and teasing. “Go on. Tell me what happens next.”

“You, um, you kiss me.”

“Like this?” FP licks at Fred’s lips before kissing him softly.

Fred smiles, lazy, thoughts already fogged from the blood rushing to his dick. He shakes his head. “It’s more like,” and he fists his hand into FP’s hair, puts more force into the kiss; more tongue, more heat.

FP’s breathless by the time Fred’s done, but he gives Fred’s cock a quick squeeze to try and keep some semblance of control. “Then what?”

Fred curses under his breath, squirms a little in FP’s hold without actually trying to get out of it. “And then you, uh… You get on your knees…”

“Do I suck you off?” FP’s breath is hot on Fred’s cheek as he whispers the question. He knows the answer. Just wants to hear Fred say it. 

Fred’s throat works as he tries to get the word out, is too focused on the thought of his dick down his husband’s throat to concentrate on anything else, and he’s wondering why the hell they aren’t doing that right now. “Y-yes.”

“Show me.”

And that catches Fred off guard. “What?” 

FP slowly backs away, keeps his eyes on Fred as he moves to the door of the jail cell, pushes it open and takes a step inside. “Show me where this fantasy of yours took place, hero.”

FP’s got this mischievous look on his face, in his eyes. It’s the only look he ever has, really. Like he’s up to trouble. It’s his default. And it annoys Fred just how much that look turns him on. They’re both such fucking cliches.

But if FP wants to play, Fred can, too.

He stalks inside the cell, circles around pretending to look for a specific spot just to bide some time. To his credit, FP’s face remains unbothered. But Fred knows better. Knows FP’s getting antsy and is all too eager for what’s coming next. “I think we were about…” He takes hold of FP’s arms, spins around slowly until he settles back against the bars of the cell and smirks. “Here.”

“You’re sure now?” FP’s expression mirrors Fred’s with the same playfulness. His hands are already working on Fred’s belt.

“Positive.” 

“Well in that case…” And FP’s falling to his knees without another word, shimmying Fred’s jeans down as he goes. He’s gonna be feeling the aches and sores from kneeling on the concrete later, but it’ll be worth it then just as it’s worth it now.

FP’s face to face with one of the many Santa’s adorning Fred’s boxers, because Fred’s the kind of guy who matches his underwear to a holiday, and FP’s well acquainted with them all by now, but it never stops being ridiculous. “Is this gonna get me on the naughty or nice list?” He’s talking directly to the cartoon Santa, because FP’s ridiculous in his own unique set of ways, and Fred can’t help but roll his eyes.

“You are not seriously talking to my dick right now.”

“I’m not talking to your dick,” FP says, sitting back on his heels. “I’m talking to Santa.” He gently pokes at the cartoon on the fabric. 

“I can’t believe I married you,” Fred teases, but his eyes are nothing but tender as he looks down at his husband.

“Oh, I’m about to remind you exactly why you married me.” Fred reaches down to pinch FP’s cheek the same moment FP’s pulling Fred’s shirt up and leaning in to bite at the jut of his hip. Fred squirms and yelps and they’re both giggling at the absurdity of each other.

The giggling gives way to moans as FP maps a trail from Fred’s hip to his navel with his mouth; licking and biting and sucking until he reaches the patch of dark hair that’ll lead FP right to where he wants to be.

FP takes a second to nuzzle his nose against Fred’s stomach, just breathe him in. His hands wind up Fred’s thighs, dip under his boxers, raking blunt nails over his skin on their way back down. Tiny goosebumps freckle along Fred’s skin where FP touches him, and his whole body shivers. 

Fred’s hands find FP’s hair again - their favorite place. Fred’s hair isn’t anything like it used to be, but dammit if FP’s isn’t still as thick and beautiful as the day they met. Fred can never get enough of it; from the way it falls soft and curly over FP’s face in the morning when he’s just woken up to how he keeps it slicked back in his day to day, the very picture of every 50s greaser fantasy. 

But above all else, Fred loves the control it gives him. How as soon as his fingers massage FP’s scalp he goes so pliant. The way he purrs and hums and keens…

FP’s breath is hot on Fred’s cock even with the layer of clothing still separating them. He sucks at the head through the fabric, creating a wet patch from his saliva and the pre-cum dripping from the tip.

Fred’s dizzy with want, head spinning just thinking about getting FP’s mouth on him _without_ the barrier between them. But FP doesn’t stop the teasing, fingers digging into Fred’s thighs as he gazes up at him from his spot on his knees. Heat’s building up in Fred’s stomach as he fists his hand tighter in his lover’s hair. FP lets out a content little hum, and it takes all of Fred’s strength to stop his eyes from rolling back into his head. 

“ _F…_ ” It’s half growl, half plead.

And FP’s never one to leave Fred wanting, so…

“I’ve got you,” he says, whispers it against the skin just below Fred’s navel before leaving a kiss there.

FP tugs Fred’s boxers halfway down his thighs and wastes no time getting his mouth on him. He starts with slow, teasing licks to the head, keeps his eyes on Fred the entire time while his hand is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock.

“Was I doing it like this?” FP asks as he pulls back. “When you thought about me blowing you.” He leans back in, flattens his tongue on the underside of Fred’s cock and licks a broad stripe up, sucking on the head before he pulls off. “Or was it like this?” He swallows Fred down, cheeks hollowing out as his tongue swirls in devious ways at the tip. 

“ _Fuck!_ That one. It was that one,” Fred moans. His hips stutter forward trying to chase the heat of FP’s mouth when he pulls off. FP’s lips are already shiny and on their way to being that perfect combination of red and swollen, and Fred doesn’t know if he wants to kiss them or fuck them.

Maybe both. Definitely both.

“I figured,” FP smirks before going back to work on Fred’s cock.

“You’re being real cocky for a cop on his knees in a jail cell sucking dick,” Fred teases. FP attempts a retort but his mouth’s too occupied for Fred to be able to make any sense of it. He reaches around and pinches Fred’s ass instead, and it causes Fred’s hips to buck forward, his cock sliding further down FP’s throat.

The motion is unexpected, and on instinct FP gags, but it doesn’t take him long to adjust and find his rhythm again.

“Shit. Sorry,” Fred says, but FP waves him off as he continues bobbing on Fred’s cock.

FP relaxes his jaw, his throat, takes Fred down _properly_ this time, swallows around him. His tongue’s working some kinda magic, and no matter how many blowjobs Fred’s gotten from FP over the years, they never stop feeling this fucking good.

Fred tells him as much, whispered praises of _”Fuck, you feel so good”_ and _“Take me so well, baby”_ , and FP hums his appreciation. Would be smirking right now if he could. But his eyes are shining with pride as he looks up at Fred, gaze never breaking as his tongue curls wickedly around the head, and Fred’s whole body shivers.

Heat’s unfurling in his belly, can feel it through his fingers and toes. Fred’s close. Can feel himself right on the edge. He holds FP’s head still, and FP’s more than happy to let Fred take the reins, stays in place as he lets Fred fuck his mouth.

FP’s fingers dig into the meat of Fred’s thighs, sure to leave bruises in their wake. His own cock sits hard in his pants, but he doesn’t touch himself, only focused on getting Fred off. 

Suddenly Fred’s rhythm shifts, picking up pace. His hands go tighter in FP’s hair, and FP can feel Fred’s cock swelling in his mouth just as he says _“Fuck, F, I’m-”_

The taste of salt loads FP’s tongue, thick white pearls spilling down his throat. He pulls off Fred’s cock slowly, licking from base to tip making sure to clean him off proper. 

Fred shakes as FP lingers at the head, sucking every last drop from Fred’s oversensitive cock until he’s whimpering.

When FP’s finally done he sits back, mouth parted and panting, lips wet with drool and cum that he licks clean, grin on his face as Fred looks down at him and groans, says “You’re too much.”

FP reaches a hand up for Fred to take, knees cracking as he stands up. It’s moments like this that his age really catches up to him. Not that he’ll ever admit it.

“You okay there, old man?” Fred asks as he does up his jeans.

FP’s eyes widen in offense. “I just had your dick in my mouth, don’t call me old man.”

Fred laughs, places his hand on the back of FP’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. He can taste himself on FP’s tongue. “I’m sorry. Lemme make it up to you.”

“You better.”

Fred’s mouth is back on FP’s, walking him back until his legs hit the small metal cot on the other side of the cell.

They break apart so Fred can take his shirt off, FP using the opportunity to loosen his tie. 

“Keep it on,” Fred commands, voice low and gruff, and FP doesn’t have to be told twice. His tie hangs loose around his neck as Fred sits down on the old, dingey mattress, pulls FP by his belt loops onto his lap.

FP takes his time undoing the buttons of his uniform shirt, because ever since he took on this job he’s been sort of prideful of it, actually cares about looking the part. It’s all very grown-up of him, Fred thinks, and it’s cute. Endearing, even. And on every other day Fred respects that. 

But right now he’s impatient and just wants to get to the goods. So he rips FP’s shirt open, buttons scattering to the ground, the sound echoing in the empty room. 

“What the hell, Fred?”

FP’s not quite mad, but he is at least annoyed. But it’s hard for Fred to take him seriously in the state he’s in: tie all askew, shirt hanging open, hair sticking out every which way. 

“You have other shirts,” is all Fred says, and whatever argument FP has on his tongue dies when Fred pulls him in for another kiss. Fred falls back on the cot, pulling FP down on top of him. 

FP settles between Fred’s legs, brackets an arm on the pillow beside Fred’s head. He moves his other hand between them, cups one of Fred’s pecs and gives it a squeeze as he bucks his hips forward. Fred lets out a small gasp, FP using the opportunity to lick into his mouth, taste all he can of Fred and savior all the little noises that come out of him. 

Fred’s hands are at work undoing FP’s belt, his button, his zipper. He reaches them around when he’s done to slip into the back of FP’s pants, grabs a handful of each cheek and _squeezes_ because FP’s ass is one of his favorite things in the world. And he loves FP’s reaction: eyes rolling back as he lets out a low groan, bites at Fred’s jaw and rolls his hips forward again. It’s fucking heaven.

Fred keeps one hand firmly in place, but takes the other out, brings it up to his mouth to lick his palm before reaching in to the front of FP’s uniform to pull his cock out. He gives it a slow stroke, stops at the tip to swipe his thumb through the pre collecting at the slit before twisting his hand back down. 

FP whimpers against Fred’s throat, face buried there as he thrusts his hips into Fred’s.

Fred smiles, gives FP’s ass another squeeze and says “Feel good, baby?”

“You always do,” FP responds, voice all breathless and hoarse.

Fred tightens his hold just enough and quickens his strokes. FP’s panting in his ear, only spurring him on. He knows FP’s close, but they’re in no rush. The storm outside’s making sure of that. So Fred changes his pace every now and then, slows his hand down when he can tell FP’s right on the edge.

“Fuck, Freddie. You’re killin’ me,” FP says, licking his lips and lifting his head just to rest his forehead against Fred’s. 

Fred smiles and twists his hand just so that FP’s whole body quakes. “Say the magic word,” he whispers against FP’s lips before kissing them softly. His hand slows almost to a complete standstill even as FP continues his thrusts, searching out any sort of friction.

But FP’s not above begging. Not when he’s this keyed up. _“Please,”_ he whines. His fist grips tight into the pillow under Fred’s head, knuckles white with the force of it. He wouldn’t be surprised if he tears a hole in the damn thing. God knows it’s old and worn out enough.

Fred gives FP’s ass two playful taps, calls him a _good boy_ , and FP doesn’t even _try_ to hide how turned on that makes him. 

Fred works his hand to just the right speed he knows FP likes, and from there it isn’t long before FP’s body tenses, calling Fred’s name like a prayer as he spills over onto Fred’s stomach, even managing to shoot up to his chest…

They’re both breathing hard, Fred stroking FP until he has nothing left to give. 

FP starts giggling, can’t help himself, really. All too high on post coital bliss as he kisses Fred’s lips, his cheeks… Kisses down to his chest and stomach and laps up the cum collecting there. 

“You’re getting it on your tie,” Fred warns him. 

FP doesn’t even bother to check, just says “Maybe I’ll wear it around like a badge of honor,” before coming back up to kiss Fred, who half groans, half laughs while pushing at FP’s chest and says “You’re so gross.”

“Mmm, you like me gross,” FP says against Fred’s lips.

“No, I don’t.”

FP nods, says “Yes, you do,” before kissing Fred again. 

They stay like that for a minute or two, making out all slow and lazy because they’re too tired for anything else.

FP falls over onto the side of the mattress, squished between Fred and the cold cement wall because this cot _definitely_ isn’t meant to fit two, but FP’s fine where he is. Pressed up against Fred, their legs tangled, Fred staring up at him with flushed cheeks and adoration while his fingers play in FP’s hair.

“Gotta say, Freddie, that was the most fun I’ve had on one of these things.”

“It better be the _only_ fun,” Fred scolds, tugs a little harder on a lock of FP’s hair.

He’s not dumb. FP’s spent enough time in and out of jail cells and Fred _knows_ what was going down (no pun intended). Not like he has any right to complain anyway. It’s not like they were together the last time… It’s not really something he likes to think about.

“Hey,” FP says, calling Fred’s attention back with a finger on his chin to turn his head to face him. “You’re the only one I have fun with.”

It’s a corny line, but Fred likes corny. So he takes FP’s hand in his and kisses him.

FP settles down against Fred’s chest, presses tight against his body and basks in the warmth of his skin. The room’s cooler than the rest of the station, but it’s not unbearable. Definitely not from where he is right now. 

Fred’s tracing soft lines up and down FP’s arm with his fingertips, and it’s enough to almost lul FP to sleep. 

Just as his eyes are closing, though, he catches a glimpse of something in the corner of the other side of the room, and it takes a second for him to process what he’s looking at before suddenly his eyes are shooting open, and all he manages to say is “Uh oh.”

Fred huffs out a laugh, in his own state of sleepy and not really paying attention to much else of what’s going on, just thinks FP’s being funny. “What’s ‘uh oh’?”

FP slowly sits up, doesn’t want to face Fred so he keeps his back to him, but he scrunches his face up, dreading the words he has to say next. “We’re, um- The um-” He cuts himself off with a nervous cough.

Worry finally kicks in and Fred sits up, too, runs his hand down FP’s back, trying to be all soothing. “FP, what’s going on?”

FP still won’t look at him, but he (tries) to swallow down cowardice, tells him “The uh… There’s a camera. In here.” He slowly points to the other side of the room, at the camera pointed right at the cell so they can keep tabs on the inmates at all times. Really, FP should’ve remembered that. That was his bad. But, heat of the moment and all… It kinda slipped his mind.

Fred’s not so forgiving, though. He’s jumping off the cot, pulling his shirt back on and his face is already a deep red by the time FP gathers the guts to look at him.

“WE’RE ON CAMERA?” Fred yells, and FP only winces a little.

“Okay, calm down,” FP says, hands up in a defensive pose as he stands in front of Fred. “It’s not-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. We just made a sex tape, FP! The last thing this town needs is another scandal!”

“It’d be one of the tamer ones, you gotta admit.”

Fred’s not laughing. “Delete it. You gotta delete it.”

“What makes you think I know how to do that?” FP asks while he’s buttoning up his shirt. Or attempting to before remembering there’s hardly any left. 

“You ran with the Serpents long enough. Shouldn’t you know how to mess with surveillance footage?”

“I was the muscle, I never had to do that stuff.” 

FP says it with such sincerity that Fred can’t help but snort. He tosses his head back and runs his hands over his face, groans long and loud. A moment of silence passes between them before FP’s snapping his fingers like he’s solved all their problems. 

“Gladys will know how!” Fred lets his hands fall, looks over at FP with an unchanging expression. “We just sneak her over here and no one will know.”

“Not _we_ ,” Fred says. “ _You._ And yeah, I’m sure that’s what she wants to be doing tonight.”

“Why? Because it’s Christmas Eve? She’s Jewish, she won’t mind.”

Fred just stares at FP. Contemplates his entire life. “Next year you’re staying home.”

\--

The storm passes, leaving behind a fresh blanket of white snow that coats the entire town.

By the time Fred and FP make it home, dinner has long since been served and everyone’s gathered in the living room watching Charlie Brown. Fred stops to greet everyone, apologize to his son for the hundredth time before going off to the kitchen to grab leftovers. 

FP hangs back in the doorway, waves Gladys over and gives a quick _hello_ to everyone else in the house before pulling his ex wife aside. 

“I need a quick favor,” he whispers.

Gladys stuffs her hands in her back pockets, cocks her hip to the side while she looks up at him. “What kind of favor?”

FP glances over her shoulder to make sure everyone’s out of earshot before he says “You still know how to erase security cam footage, right?”

Her eyes narrow, trying to figure out his game. “Maybe… why?”

FP leans down to whisper in her ear, and all of a sudden Gladys’ voice is echoing throughout the house “Ho-ly shit, you dirty dogs!” The sound of utensils clattering in the kitchen rings out the same time Gladys slaps FP’s chest. “Yeah, okay, I can help you out. Consider this your Christmas present.”

FP chances a look back into the living room and sees everyone staring in his direction, but no one comments. They probably all know better by now than to question whatever the hell goes on in his life.

Gladys grabs her check while FP tells everyone they’re stepping out for a minute. Fred stops him as he’s heading back out the door, and FP’s sure he’s in for another round of scolding, but instead Fred grabs FP’s sleeve and pulls him in for a kiss.

FP’s face contorts in confusion, but as they pull apart Fred’s looking up at the mistletoe hanging above them, says “Don’t want to anger the elves.” 

FP relaxes knowing that Fred may not be completely over this little incident, but he’s already forgiven FP enough to let it go. 

“Make it home in time for pie,” Fred tells him.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” FP says, kisses his husband again and already can’t wait to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos much appreciated i hope you enjoyed my smut merry belated christmas


End file.
